


Boys On The Bridge

by nonsensicalbelle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Violence, steve talks bucky down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 04:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensicalbelle/pseuds/nonsensicalbelle
Summary: “What, what you doing?” Someone stammered over Bucky’s left shoulder. He blinked through his bleary wet eyes, risking a glance over his shoulder, hands gripping the ledge that his legs were swung over, tempting him further.“What does it fucking look like, I’m trying to kill myself. If you could piss off, ‘m trying to focus,” He spat back, facing forward again.The boy, it was a boy, a little spindly, bug-eyed blond thing from Bucky’s brief glance, cleared his throat and stepped to the side so Bucky could see him in his peripheral.“Is there, uh, any, any chance you’d, um, be willing to, that is, reschedule.” He stuttered and Bucky’s poor, stretched, cynical teenage heart faltered and he choked up a laugh.





	Boys On The Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> i have a job interview tomorrow for a job i don't want  
> i'm just writing and writing  
> be careful there's a lot of dark stuff in this, take care of yourselves  
> let me know what you think

Bucky Barnes was going to kill himself.

People told him to often enough, he was just taking sound advice. Sixteen years of shit and he’d seen enough, he’d felt enough, he’d had _enough_.

A rare, wonderful feeling of power rushed through him. For the first time, he had a purpose – albeit a grisly one. He wouldn’t be looked for. He certainly wouldn’t be missed. Just the idea of respite from the relentless shitstorm of his life was pure bliss. This had to be the right thing to do. He had to be on the right course.

It was a trek from the Lower East Side but anywhere above five minutes was a trek for a teenager and Bucky didn’t actually mind the long walk. Long walks were a well worn escape from home, from school and from where they overlapped. Brooklyn Bridge was a regular haunt of his – touristy enough that plummeting from it to his death should shake up Brooklyn for a day before everyone forgot about him. Plus, the gritty wrought iron fit his aesthetic nicely. He was self-aware enough that the thought made him smile morbidly.

It was late June – Bucky’s least favourite time of year. School hadn’t finished but everything was a pressure cooker preparing for exams and results. Home was a nightmare. Plus, it was so fucking hot. It had reached 85 and Bucky’s leather jacket was shoved messily in his tatty rucksack. He was walking so fast he was sweating, fists clenched, teeth grit, the words of the day rattling around in his head.

He wasn’t being rash. He’d thought about this for months maybe longer. And after school he’d walked around for hours internally debating the best way and had settled on this. He felt it was big and dramatic enough to bring his life to some sort of sad climax and after everything, he deserved a fucking crescendo. The image of the swan dive he was imagining had an odd serenity and everyone said drowning was the best way to go. After the initial bit. It was calm. Calm sounded really, really good.

Once he’d set his mind to it, things got simpler. He reached the bridge as the sun was setting, something he’d sped up for a little so he didn’t miss it, wanting them to go down in tandem. His English teacher might be the only person in the world who’d appreciate him for that. He was the only one who’d ever shown him any kindness and he was convinced even that was him simply going above and beyond to make even the shittiest kid feel welcome in his classroom for his own moral compass.

As he had finally reached the bridge, he kept walking, wanting to find a prime spot. He wondered how his Dad would react. He hoped he was sick. He hoped it fucking haunted him. It wouldn’t though, Bucky knew. He knew far better.

He’d underestimated how busy it would be, getting frustrated and flustered with groups of people chatting, taking photos, stopping to admire the view. He struggled through, pushing harder than necessary to escape the throng of people, ignoring a few shouts to get to a blessedly more secluded spot. The sun was touching the horizon when he stopped at what he knew to be about halfway. He had to remind himself, in his determination, to stop and not accidentally walk to Manhattan. Peering out over the ledge the sky was streaked with pastel clouds, below was a gorgeous watercolour masterpiece, undulating plums and crimsons.

He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it. His heart was thrumming steadily in his chest and he’d convinced himself it was just the fast pace that had set it off but standing on the bridge now, his instincts were kicking in. It was windier up here, his hair now chin length was blowing about manically. For something to do, a moment to consider, he scrabbled his hair into a messy bun with the elastic band that had been cutting into his wrist. Looking down at the red ringed indent it had left behind, he was transfixed. Flipping his hand over, he saw where the red line overlapped the faint blue and purple of his veins.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. The sun was setting steadily, the water now an ashy violet. It was a Thursday. A nice, empty Thursday. He was partially hidden from view either way by the large towering supporting beams and the faux-privacy made his heart beat harder. No one was going to stop him. And he was here. But this was a _good_ idea. It hadn’t come from nowhere. He just needed to focus on his reasons – God knows he had a list.

He was unsteady on his feet as he walked up slowly to the ledge, he could see how hard his hands were shaking when he placed them on the ledge. The metal was warm to the touch from the sun and he paid it attention. Just like he paid attention to the gravelly scrape of his shoe against the ground when he shifted one leg over the edge. And he paid attention to the way his backpack, strapped tight to his shoulders, was making his t-shirt stick with sweat to his back. He needed to give everything attention whilst he still could.

The air on his face was heaven and was, he knew, fleeting. He was giving it up. He was giving up the weak feeling in his knees. He was giving up the vertigo when he wobbled just a little to the left side which was hanging precariously. He was giving up the strain in his chest as he breathed hard, forcefully, adrenaline thrumming in his veins.

He summoned every ounce of courage, every tightrope walk, every zip line, or black eye or tree climb and swung his other leg over, gasping in and out air as he stared wide-eyed at his feet, silhouetted by the water so, so far below. He gulped hard, eyes filling up. He was releasing sounds of strain as he tried to prepare himself. It was stupid, he thought, to try and prepare himself for ten seconds of air and then nothing. But he’d never felt so unprepared for anything in his life. He was one move away from just giving in and letting everything fucking **go**.

“What, what you doing?” Someone stammered over Bucky’s left shoulder. He blinked through his bleary wet eyes, risking a glance over his shoulder, hands gripping the ledge that his legs were swung over, tempting him further.

“What does it fucking look like, I’m trying to kill myself. If you could piss off, ‘m trying to focus,” He spat back, facing forward again.

The boy, it was a boy, a little spindly, bug-eyed blond thing from Bucky’s brief glance, cleared his throat and stepped to the side so Bucky could see him in his peripheral.

“Is there, uh, any, any chance you’d, um, be willing to, that is, reschedule.” He stuttered and Bucky’s poor, stretched, cynical teenage heart faltered and he choked up a laugh.

“Sorry, is this a bad time for you?” He coughed another shocking, jarring laugh. Short, staccato and so painfully out of place. The wind blustered past them and Bucky had a white-knuckle grip on the ledge that was quickly losing its warmth.

“I, well, I can’t imagine there being a, uh, a _good_ ,” He trailed off and cleared his throat again. “There’s a meteor shower Saturday.” He blurted out.

Bucky did a double take, daring to take his eyes off his target for only a second at a time. “What?” He asked incredulously.

“It, it’s one of those, like, every 500 years things, so, uh,”

“So I should come back, to, to, to do it Saturday? Bring a fucking, fucking telescope and a, a, pack lunch and make a fucking night of it?” His voice climbed an octave embarrassingly but at least he wasn’t crying anymore. The blond boy was shaking his hands and head in unison wildly, almost comically and Bucky didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “What are you actually doing here?” He demanded.

“Drawing,” The boy replied instantly before scrambling for a satchel hanging from his bony shoulders, digging around for something inside it. Bucky nearly looked but another huge gust of threatening wind made him grit his teeth and clamp his hands and legs to the iron. “Here, just, the bridge and, and people, I uh… You don’t, I mean, I can show you later, another, another time,” He shoved it back into the satchel almost immediately after he’d found it. In any other scenario Bucky would have rolled his eyes as he was so awkward but he was a little distracted.

“Sure, great, another time. Bye.” He said stiltedly, leaning the tiniest fraction over, daring himself when he was still undecided if he was playing. The boy made some desperate noises and puffed out a gust of air, running his hand through the blond.

“I know you. I mean, I, I recognise you, you go to Cascades, right? That’s uh, well,”

“Ironic.” Bucky grit out. “You could say I drew inspiration.” He was proud of his attitude in the face of such extreme stress. The blond actually huffed a laugh, a weird nervous thing but it was there.

“I go to the prep, think I saw you when our track team was competing at your school, you were, uh, smoking by the tennis courts.”

“You do track?” Bucky asked doubtfully, sparing a brief, cutting glance and the boy shuffled.

“Reserve.” He muttered and Bucky nodded.

“Listen, I know you think you’re now somehow, I don’t know, responsible if I do it but you’re not and I would really appreciate it if you just kept walking.” It was a quiet, timid thing. He was really asking. He even looked over, swallowing his pride and trying to be a human appealing to another human. It had never worked before but Bucky was still young that he figured his heart hadn’t had time to completely harden yet.

The boy blinked at him. His eyes were sad but kind.

“I’m not responsible for you.” Bucky closed his eyes gratefully but he wasn’t done. “I’m not gonna’ leave you, though.”

He snapped his eyes open.

“But that’s what I want!”

“Sorry, I, I want to stay. This,” He seems to draw himself up, faux-casual as he keeps a distance but leans against the railing. “This is a nice spot, my favourite, in fact. I’d already planned to, uh, to just, yeah,” He gestured at the horizon and Bucky was grinding his teeth. His adrenaline kept spiking every time he glanced down and he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever.

“Won’t be your favourite spot if you stay, trust me, pal,” He warned and the blond hummed, shrugging in false indifference. “Can you, just, just fucking trust me, I’m so much better off just being fucking dead,” He said. He’d never said it out loud before. The blond boy turned to him and Bucky didn’t bother looking over.

“That can’t be true,” He said quietly and not for the first time Bucky’s temper flared wildly.

“I’m about to throw myself off a bridge, of course it’s true!” He yelled, sucking in air through his teeth, his hand was threatening to cramp. “I have, for fuck sake, I have reasons!”

“What reasons?” Blond replied and Bucky turned a thoughtless deranged stare over to him. “I mean it, tell me. Prove it.”

“Are you fucking,” He growled in overwhelming frustration. “I don’t have to prove, it’s, I, I don’t have to justify myself to you.” He managed.

“Steve. Is my name – not relevant, just… And let’s pretend you do. I’m the only one here, let’s pretend you do have to prove it. How, how can you be better off dead, how?”

The boy, Steve, was staring at him. The wind had cooled him down and his sweat-soaked shirt was cold and making him shiver a little as the sun was fast drifting down out of view, it’s warmth being taken with it. He couldn’t even kill himself without causing a fucking scene.

“I, fuck sake, it’s, fine, you asked, fine.” He puffed a deep breath, eyes tracking a seagull sweeping under him making his stomach churned and he squeezed his eyes shut before carrying on. “Every day I wake up and listen to how loud the power tools in my house are to know how hard I’ll get hit before school,” He swallows, hard. He’s never said this. He’s staring down and talking about it is already making the water look kinder. He hears Steve suck in a breath.

“I have shitty first aid kits in my bags and around the house and even in spots on the way to fucking school. I have to get rid of any blood before I get there. Then, I get called a faggot by half the student body, at some point in the day my head gets kicked in, although they like to mix it up occasionally, sometimes one of them brings a knife and just cut me places it won’t show, just enough to fucking hurt,” His head spins a little and he blinks himself into focus. Steve carefully and visibly moves closer, slowly so as not to spook him. “I’m not allowed to shower at home so no one else will come near me. I only eat the shitty free school meals and even then I can’t because those fuckers wait for me in the canteen. I’m always too fucked up to do gym and the teacher is a fucking Nazi who always makes me do laps until I pass out.”

Steve is right next to him, his arm just touching Bucky’s thigh and his throat is thick at the sensation. He can’t remember the last time he had been touched without some kind of violence or restraint. He can’t remember. He’s not sure it ever happened. And Steve is so careful that he doesn’t flinch. He’s deliberately looking out at the water and Bucky’s grateful. He doesn’t want to stop now. He wants to say it all and be empty. Maybe free of all of it keeping him here, he’ll sink faster.

“Dad likes to, he, sometimes I get home and he’s with his friends and they’re, just drunk and,” He bites the inside of his mouth and Steve is slightly warmer at his side. It burns his throat to continue but he does. Someone will know. If he’s going to die. Someone’s going to fucking know why. “He lets his friends take turns doing, doing,”

“Oh my God,” He hears Steve breathe, horrified but tactfully keeping his eyes ahead.

“Sometimes I don’t go home but then it’s worse when I eventually do and, I, I’ve got nowhere to fucking go,” He laughs and he’s crying again. He barely noticed. “I have no friends, I get into enough fights and fucking panic attacks the teachers don’t give a shit and I, I hate it, I hate it, I hate waking up.” He gasps in a breath and sobs it out.

Steve is shaking. He might be crying too. He’s taken off his glasses. Bucky sobs again, shivering and shaking.

“I hate waking up,” He coughs out, louder. He sucks in a huge breath and screams, “I HATE WAKING UP!” It shudders through him. It’s a fucking **relief** and he feels **awful**.

The pair of them stay there, silently, breathing and weeping and trying for a long while. A long while. The sun is just lingering above the lip of the horizon, eclipsed at the waterline. Bucky’s heart sinks.

“I’m not gonna’ do it, am I?” He whispers and Steve looks up at him.

“This is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with someone who’s not my Mom.” He says and Bucky blinks, sniffing and frowning down at him.

“What?”

“I don’t speak to anybody, not anymore. My Dad died in some war and my Mom got cancer and I, I don’t talk, to anyone.” He clarified.

“Your, your Mom is she,” Bucky lingered, unsure how to continue. This wasn’t terrain he knew how to manoeuvre.

“She, uh, she won’t say but, it’s, I know it’s not long,” He mumbles, turning his head to wipe his face with the back of his hands. “She’s gonna’ die and there’s no one else. I got no one else.”

Bucky was stunned into silence. A sudden, deafening barrage of sympathy crushing him. Steve was pretty much openly crying. Bucky had never had any kind of compassion shown his way or that he gave out to anyone else. This was the most meaningful interaction he’d ever had. This and Mr Coulson saying he had a gift for language. That was it.

“Help me down.” He croaked, too quiet.

“What?” Steve sniffed up at him and he frowned, ignoring the tearing feeling in his chest. He was supposed to end here. But he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t leave this gangly little guy who’d bothered to try and talk him down.

“Help me get, get down, okay,” He bit out and Steve jolted and snapped to action. He flailed a little, Bucky frozen in place, terrified as he knew his limbs were unresponsive. Steve opted for standing behind him, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s chest, under his arms and pulling him straight back so he fell back onto him and they landed in a messy tangle on the sidewalk.

Bucky was gripping his arms painfully tightly as he scrambled, heaving in air and pressing his back against the sure hold of the bridge. Steve was fumbling in his satchel, retrieving an inhaler and greedily gulping in puffs. Bucky was a little worried the guy might actually swallow it if he wasn’t careful.

“Never been talked out of suicide before.” Bucky said, his voice strange and sticking in his throat. He relished the feel of the ground beneath him, the press of the hard sidewalk against his hands, the cold metal holding up his head.

“Never talked anyone out of,” Steve gestured to them both and Bucky nodded. Steve leaned his back against the railing and shut his eyes. He was a little shorter than Bucky but they must have been the same age, both going on seventeen.

“Bucky Barnes.”

Steve opened his eyes and tilted his head over.

“Bucky?”

He nodded. Steve shocked him then – he smiled, a little small pleased thing and Bucky shuffled, unsure what to do.

“You like spaghetti?” Steve asked out of the blue and Bucky blinked at him.

“I mean, yeah,” He said questioningly, unable to not feel suspicious.

“Got some back at my house, you wanna’ come? My Ma always makes too much,”

Bucky stiffens. “Oh, I don’t, I don’t know,”

“She’s at work. We can eat and go back out, it’s fine,” Steve says quickly, back-tracking. He’s looking at Bucky so earnestly. He sighed, fidgeting and trying to ignore his skin crawling with nerves.

“Alright,” He mumbled.

“Alright?” Steve repeated, smile growing and Bucky snorted a little laugh.

“Yes, dork, alright. Come on. Should probably get off this fucking bridge,” He huffs another laugh and Steve joins him, nodding. He stumbles as he tries to get to his feet and Steve instantly rushes to help him. He lets Steve help him to his feet but then shrugs him off.

“Okay, come on. I’m starving.” Steve smiled that little smile, a nervous one, like he’s scared if he smiles any bigger Bucky will get freaked out.

They have a mutual silent agreement that they needed to get off the bridge quickly. They didn’t talk until they were far from it. Bucky started to breathe normally again. He fought the urge to get emotional again as they walked through Brooklyn. He can’t believe he nearly gave up Brooklyn. Despite everything, he loved Brooklyn.

“You never showed me your drawings,” He remembered after they’d been walking for a while and Steve hummed awkwardly. Bucky laughed and risked giving Steve a light nudge. “Come on, you said you’d show me.” He was rewarded with Steve’s smile growing despite himself, face flushing. He dawdled before giving in with a sigh and digging his sketchbook out.

“Just, I’m not, I’m not like trained, or, or, just please don’t,” Steve is flailing and Bucky rolls his eyes and easily snatches the book from him.

He opens it and flips it open, smiling when he saw a beautiful sketch of a smiling woman. It was like a still it was so photo-realistic.

“How did I know you would be brilliant at this?” He muttered and glanced up to see Steve’s flush growing.

“You, you think?” He looks so shocked and delighted like he’s won something. Like he doesn’t deserve the highest praise possible for these gorgeous pieces of artwork Bucky is admiring as he flips through.

“Doesn’t matter what I think, you’d have to be blind to miss it.”

“I, thank you,”

Bucky passed Steve back his sketchbook with some reverence and Steve looked shell-shocked. The just stood on the sidewalk for a while. Steve staring down at the book, scuffing his feet, clearly repressing whatever emotion was threatening to overflow. There had been too much of that already so Bucky cleared his throat and started walking.

“That spaghetti’s calling me.” He muttered and Steve quickly caught up to him.

Eventually, they made it to a little apartment block. Steve’s door was on the second floor. He let himself in and the smell that hit Bucky immediately made his stomach pang ruthlessly.

“It smells so good, holy shit,” He breathed and Steve laughed, louder than he had before now, seemingly already more at ease now he was home. Bucky wished he knew what that was like.

“Steve? You home, sweetie?” A voice called from down the hall and Bucky froze, heart stopping in panic.

“Oh shit,” Steve’s eyes flew to him but he tried to smile reassuringly. “It’s okay, she must be about to leave. Uh, yeah, Mom, I, uh, kitchen.” He called uselessly and Bucky stared at him, ready to bolt.

“I’m on my way out, just forgot my lanyard and had to – oh,” The woman from Steve’s sketchbook appeared in the hallway and was momentarily as stunned to see Bucky as he was to see her. However, then she instantly collected herself and moved around them, shifting things in the kitchen.

“Ma, this, uh, this is my f – uh,” Steve looked stranded and Bucky steeled himself.

“I’m Steve’s friend.” He blurted out a little too loudly and Steve turned a wide-eyed stare at him.

Steve’s Mom regarded him for a second and smiled softly, the spitting image of her son.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” She said, lingering a little with a little hum. “I’ve seen you at the hospital a few times.” She remarks and Bucky’s insides turn cold.

“I, it’s, it,” He can’t think quick enough, he’s exhausted. However, she quickly waves him off.

“I’m Sarah.” She smiles easily, moving to grab two full plates of spaghetti and place them on the counter in front of Bucky and Steve. “I’m hoping you’re hungry, I think I overdid it.”

“You always do, Ma,” Steve scoffs a laugh and she laughs with him, pretending to narrow her eyes.

“Bucky,” Bucky almost shouted because apparently he had absolutely zero social skills. Great. Sarah took it in her stride, though.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. I have to go but please, eat, and feel free to stay the night and come over whenever you like, I’m glad Steve has some company.” She smiles kindly but Steve makes a little squawk that makes Bucky laugh. She doesn’t wait for anything else and with a wave and a kiss to Steve’s cheek she leaves.

“Bye Ma,” Steve calls weakly after her.

“She’s… really, really great.”

“Yes. She is.” Steve beams at him and Bucky’s insides shift, not bad, just new and strange. “Let’s eat.”

Bucky almost bursts into tears again when he tastes Mrs Rogers spaghetti bolognese. He’s never had something home made or anything this _delicious_. Steve laughs and hums in agreement to his exclamation and they both inhale the food in the way only growing teenagers can. When they finished, Bucky was in euphoria.

“I’m in heaven. I must be.”

Steve laughed, like really laughed, sighing happily in a carefree way that made Bucky feel triumphant. They talk for a while longer and then Bucky is aware he’s just sat in Steve’s home and they both have school tomorrow and he should probably get out of his hair. He’s about to suggest this when Steve speaks.

“So, you wanna’ sleep over? I have a PlayStation,” He offers and he wrings his hands nervously.

“Are you serious?” Bucky is overtaken by his awe.

“It’s old and second hand and, you know, kind of glitchy but I got two remotes and a few cool games. Never played multiplayer,” He tacks on, a little pleased smile threatening to take over. Bucky nods wildly before hesitating.

“You sure you don’t mind me staying over?” Steve instantly shook his head with a smile.

“Are you kidding? Can’t wait to embarrass you at Mario Kart.” He grins and Bucky feels an unfamiliar spark of excitement and delight.

They stay up and Steve teaches Bucky how to play and he picks it up annoyingly quickly and Steve accuses him of being blessed by the Mario Gods. He laughs a lot. It keeps surprising him. He’s not sure when they fell asleep but when Bucky wakes up on Steve’s bed, their legs all tangled up, the Mario theme is still playing in the background.

They both have to be quick to get ready for school and they’re both wishing and debating not going in but Steve doesn’t want his Mother to get a phonecall and Bucky can’t really afford more absences. They walk together for as long as they can before they are forced to stop, needing to split paths to go their respective high schools. It’s an uncomfortable shuffle as they both want to just hide back out at Steve’s and gorge themselves on his Mother’s food.

“Uh, just, thanks, Steve. You’re, uh, seriously the best person I’ve ever met.” He bites out because he needs to in case Steve comes to his senses and never sees him again and Bucky never gets to tell him. Steve stares at him and Bucky needs to leave.

“But you’re coming over tonight, right?” Steve says with a little grin, eyes nervous. Bucky plays along, a swell of affection rising in his throat.

“What’s your Ma cooking?”

Steve’s eyes light up and he looks elated like he’s got a secret. He rocks up on his feet for a minute.

“It’s Friday. We’re gonna’ get pizza.” He grinned and Bucky’s stomach flipped in anticipation and he grinned, even just in response to Steve’s smile.

“Just try and keep me away.” He said happily – actually happily. After yesterday, how was that possible? Steve was a little miracle sent to get him off ledges and give him pizza and Mario Kart and a bed to sleep in.

They both set off in opposite directions. Halfway down the road he hears Steve yell his name and turns.

“What?” He yells, chuckling at Steve jumping up and down in the distance.

“See you later!” He yells back and Bucky grins, nodding and throwing his hands up.

“Pizza!” He calls and Steve whoops and Bucky thinks he might feel okay today. Maybe just for today.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think  
> all the best for you all  
> b x


End file.
